


All Their Glory is Like the Flowers of the Field

by greygerbil



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-12 07:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20560697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: When Aziraphale wears Crowley's body, he notices a most curious thing.





	All Their Glory is Like the Flowers of the Field

**Author's Note:**

  * For [infernal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infernal/gifts).

Aziraphale had noticed the uncomfortable pressure at the back of his throat for the first time while he stood in hell awaiting trial, but with everything else going on, he had not had time to give it any consideration. Minute by minute he pushed the feeling off until it would no longer be ignored and came on abruptly when, returned to earth and still shaking with relief while hoping that Crowley had fared just as well, he suddenly found his – Crowley’s – throat seizing up. 

For a moment, Aziraphale was stiff with shock. Was the vessel sick? No, they couldn’t be, not truly. Vessels were not real human bodies, after all. He scrabbled at his throat, gagging for breath, as his thoughts raced through other possibilities. Perhaps after all these years Crowley’s demonic nature had rubbed off on the flesh he was wearing? Was it rejecting Aziraphale’s angelic presence? Aziraphale had never heard of such a thing, but then, nothing the two of them did had much precedent. He doubted any demon and angel had swapped vessels before.

Speculating ceased, alongside all other thoughts, when Crowley’s lanky body doubled over, wracked with coughs, and Aziraphale felt something smooth come up his throat, followed by a bitter, acidic taste, but with a sweet smell rising into his nose at the same time. As he spat out the mass, retching and coughing, he found to his great astonishment a variety of cone-shaped flowers in soft shades of orange, yellow, and pink dripping onto the floor, gathering at his feet.

As the convulsions subsided, Aziraphale bent to pick up one of the blossoms, still a little damp but pretty in full bloom, and stared at it in wonder. It seemed to be an altogether strange thing to erupt from the body of anyone, but especially a demon.

Carefully, Aziraphale gathered all the flowers, fingers shaking from the effort that he’d spent spitting them out. Whatever it was, he had to speak to Crowley about it. His heart sank a little at the thought. Would the troubles of this week never end?

-

“Let me tempt you to a spot of lunch?”

Aziraphale hesitated, watching Crowley carefully. He seemed quite comfortable back in his own vessel, so Aziraphale could hope that nothing had seriously gone awry with the body, for otherwise Crowley must have already noticed. That was a relief, but he could still not gloss over the fact that he had managed to produce most of a bouquet from somewhere inside of Crowley just an hour earlier. It would have been very negligent to use Crowley’s body and not mention it to him.

“Gladly, but there is something we should speak about first.”

Aziraphale reached for his pocket, then realised that the flowers were now in Crowley’s jacket, not his own, and pointed at his pocket instead. Crowley patted it and then reached in to pull out a crushed flower, milky yellow with brown lines where it had been folded and pressed.

“I coughed these up just an hour ago.”

The series of expressions that went across Crowley’s face ranged from shock to displeasure to indignation as he shoved the flower back into his pocket.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Probably just, you know, ‘cause you’re an angel and this body is used to demonic wiles,” Crowley said, very casually. “Should be fine now that I’m back in it, shouldn’t it?”

“Are you certain? It’d be dreadful if I permanently damaged your vessel.”

“It’s fine,” Crowley said.

His tone was so impatient that even Aziraphale, who was very bad at noticing deceit as a result of his basic angelic building blocks, found it a little odd.

“You don’t really seem surprised,” he noticed.

“They’re just flowers. Flowers don’t really break anything, do they?” Crowley muttered.

“They do usually grow on vines and stems, not inside people,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Apparently, sometimes they do.”

Crowley had crossed his arms across his chest and Aziraphale was now certain that he knew more about it than he admitted. But what a strange thing to lie about! Why would it be bad for Aziraphale to know that he was fighting an infestation of rather pretty blossoms?

Before he could even say any more, Crowley sighed and let his head fall back against the bench. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

“Did this happen before?”

Crowley gave a sullen shrug. “‘s as I said, there’s no point in worrying about it. Nothing went wrong yet and it’s been this way for a long while.”

Aziraphale wondered why Crowley had never mentioned it to him, then.

“It was exceedingly uncomfortable. We should at least look into healing it…”

“There’s no healing this,” Crowley said sharply.

“But I’m an angel. I can fix a great many things.”

Abruptly, Crowley got to his feet. “Let’s not have this discussion here,” he demanded. “I’ll drive us to the bookshop.”

-

Crowley had been very literal with his announcement; he did not speak a word until the door of the bookshop had finally fallen shut behind them. Aziraphale wrung his hands as he watched him pace between overflowing bookcases, his long, thin body full of nervous energy.

“I figured it would pause if I wasn’t in the body,” Crowley said, finally.

“But what is it? I never heard of any coughing up flowers… especially not a demon.”

Crowley stopped suddenly, just half a step away from Aziraphale, who resisted the urge to flinch backwards. He could feel Crowley’s burning gaze through the glasses.

“What do you think? I do things a demon isn’t supposed to do.” He shook his head wildly. “I figure this is just the vessel reacting and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”

“Aren’t demons allowed to do pretty much anything, save some exceptions? Oh dear, I hope it wasn’t the miracles you performed for me...” He drew in air, guilt rushing in. “Crowley, why didn’t you say?”

Aziraphale had always figured that his own restrictions had been quite a bit more severe. There was a whole lot of ground to cover to the right and left of the very narrow righteous path – he would know, he had strayed there often enough. However, Crowley had been zigzagging across said path a bit too often, too, and usually for Aziraphale’s benefit.

“It’s not the miracles. Demons are not supposed to be crushing on anyone, that’s the problem,” Crowley spat. “I’m thinking it’s like an allergic reaction.”

Aziraphale felt his heart sink and immediately thought himself foolish for it. If he had wanted Crowley for himself, he should have told him so, but he’d always still clung to the last threads of his heavenly nature as if they meant something, as if he truly cared more about the people up there than he did about Crowley or the humans. It was his own fault that Crowley had chosen someone else – providing Aziraphale had ever even had a chance. He was the one who’d told Crowley he was going too fast, after all, that he somehow still couldn’t openly accept his friendship after thousands of years.

“Ah,” he said weakly, finally wrenching a reaction out of himself. “Well – I am happy you are! I really am. It’s always good to have more love in the world. Yes, well. But it shouldn’t be painful.” He smiled. “I have healed your vessel before, do you remember? I might be able to do it.”

“Yeah, the tourney at Camelot.” Crowley grimaced. There had been a spear run all the way through his shoulder, a rather ghastly sight, as Aziraphale recalled. “Good of you to make sure I didn’t get discorporated. Still… I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you can do about this.”

“You could at least let me try. I do want you to enjoy being in love.”

That wasn’t a lie. It would be exceedingly painful for himself, but he firmly believed that Crowley deserved all the best in the world.

Crowley frowned at him.

“It’s useless, angel. I know that.”

“Why?”

Tearing his glasses off, Crowley looked caught between frustration and desperation.

“Do you know what these flowers were that you spit out?”

For a moment, Aziraphale thought back on the blossoms that had covered the ground of his bookshop, wondering what that had to do with anything.

“Well, they could be Crossvine or…”

“They’re angel’s trumpets, _angel_. I should know, I’ve been looking at them since the damned 14th century.”

Silence hung heavy in the dusty air of the bookshop. Crowley averted his gaze as Aziraphale stared at him. There really was only one person Crowley could be in love with who had been around him since the middle ages, considering how easily and eagerly he’d left behind his own people in hell.

“I-I had no idea,” Aziraphale said, voice half an octave too high.

For a moment, Crowley looked extremely doubtful, but then he gave a sigh. “Yeah, you probably didn’t, somehow,” he said, almost defeated. “Can we go have lunch now?”

Their relationship from now back to the 14th century ran in reverse through Aziraphale’s mind, a sudden flash of smiles and touches and Crowley’s amber eyes. Crowley had spent such a long time trying to win him over and all the while fighting with this strange illness, too.

It was his turn now to push, Aziraphale decided; he’d been dragging his feet for long enough.

“Are you certain it’s not _unrequited_ love that is the problem, though?” he asked. “It looks like it wants to show you who you need to turn to.”

“What difference does it make?”

Aziraphale closed the gap between them and gave Crowley a kiss. It was probably not a very good kiss, as it was his very first, a far cry from the sort Aziraphale had read about in racier novels around the _fin de siècle_. Still, he thought even a simple firm press of their lips should make the point.

Crowley stood still as a statue as Aziraphale withdrew.

“Are you taking pity on me?” he asked, anger brimming in his voice.

“No, I’m – I’m trying to show you that I am quite infatuated with you!” Aziraphale said, a little indignantly. “I concede I’m not that good yet, but-”

The rest of the sentence ended up somewhere in Crowley’s mouth as Crowley showed him a kiss _exactly_ like the ones Aziraphale had read about in the books with the discreet covers during the Victorian age. He now understood the use of the word ‘intoxicating’ in these descriptions. His hands found the halves of Crowley’s jacket, holding on.

“Oh my,” he murmured, somewhat confused and rather out of breath, as they parted. He feared the smile plastered all over his face was a bit silly, but Crowley didn’t seem to mind.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Crowley said. His tongue was forked as he licked his lips.

“Apparently since the 14th century,” Aziraphale said sheepishly.

How could he not have known? But then, he’d been so busy pretending to himself that they weren’t even friends that it would have been hard to get through to him.

“Right, thanks for reminding me.” Crowley could have sounded angry with much justification, but he was grinning. “You have a _lot_ to make up for, keeping me waiting like this.”

Aziraphale knew Crowley would throw him into a bookcase if he said it, but the fact that he could be so lenient on him for making them both wait almost a millennium showed how kind a person Crowley really was and made his heart open for him even more. Smiling, he tugged a little at his jacket, loving the way the hard angles of Crowley’s body pressed into his own more yielding form.

“Well, I also have a lot of time now that heaven more or less kicked me out. No more reports to send back...” Aziraphale smiled in a way that he hoped was suitably enticing. He didn’t think he could match Crowley, who radiated an aura that drew Aziraphale in like they were magnets, but he could try.

“Do you even know what you’re agreeing to, angel?” Crowley mocked..

“Well, it would be foolhardy not to have at least – looked into the strategies of the enemy...”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up in definite interest and Aziraphale clamped down on the reflex to immediately claim that he hadn’t meant it like _that_, as he usually did when Crowley noticed he was just a little too knowledgeable about things he shouldn’t be, had toed the line into Crowley’s area of expertise. Instead, he held Crowley’s fire-eyed gaze with some defiance and felt a trickle of excitement go through him.

“Is that so?”

“They wrote very scandalous things in those penny dreadfuls,” Aziraphale said, quite excited by the grin on Crowley’s face which looked so hungry, knowing he was drawing it out of him. “I even have some collections around here still.”

“You really are a naughty angel.”

“Only because I was tempted by a very talented demon.”

Crowley took his face in his hands, but this kiss was only as short as a promise.

“Come,” he said, pointing with his chin towards the couch; but he didn’t let Aziraphale walk there on his own, anyway, instead clutching him in his arms and pushing him down on it. Crowley did not sit by his side there, either. Instead, he dropped to his knees and spread Aziraphale’s thighs with a resolute movement.

“My dear boy, I...”

“Just sit back and relax, angel. I’ve got a lot of practice choking now, barely bothers me anymore.”

The lewd suggestion behind those words had Aziraphale feel hot, though somehow most of his vessel’s blood seemed in a hurry to get down between his legs rather than up into his head, where it usually rushed to leave him embarrassingly pink-faced.

“I should probably, er, prepare.”

With a thought, Aziraphale made sure that Crowley would find something to keep him occupied down there. His brand-new effort tented the unyielding fabric of his trousers almost immediately and Aziraphale wished for a (albeit brief) moment that he had at some point gotten into such modern inventions as sweatpants, which probably wouldn’t have been as uncomfortable in this moment. Of course, it _would_ have helped if Crowley weren’t pushing his face against the outside of the bulge, smirking as he kissed him through the fabric. That would surely leave some damp spots there, but somehow he could not bring himself to care, even though they were his good trousers.

Mercifully, Crowley soon took pity on him and freed his erection from its prison of cloth. Aziraphale gasped as his fingers gripped it firmly.

“Is it alright like this? I wasn’t sure what you like,” he said breathlessly, smoothing his hand over Crowley’s hair. “I could change it.”

He’d taken care not to make it too long, as Crowley apparently seemed to plan to take it into his mouth, and a little thicker, as no part of him was exactly svelte and Aziraphale did think that having something that looked like it matched him would be aesthetically pleasing in its own right.

“Perfect,” Crowley murmured, dragging his thumb down over his cock to pull at his foreskin and placed a kiss on Aziraphale’s new body part before he wrapped his lips around the head.

The sudden wet heat sent a crackle through Aziraphale’s body. His hand in Crowley’s hair tightened reflexively.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, releasing him.

“No problem,” Crowley said in a way that suggested it _really_ wasn’t, warm breath ghosting over his cock before he plunged his head down again. Aziraphale’s legs splayed a little wider, Crowley’s hand still pushing into his soft thighs as he started to bob his head up and down.

In that moment, Aziraphale was sure that despite all the rules humans had invented around sex and all the angelic disapproval of excessive lust, it had to be an invention of heaven, in the end. How could something that caused such euphoria be evil? He felt a burst of gratitude towards Crowley for introducing him to it.

His fingers tangled tighter into Crowley’s hair as the demon picked up his pace and when Crowley flicked his tongue against him, Aziraphale couldn’t help a twitch of his hips. As it did not seem to bother Crowley, he gave up on controlling the response, thrusting into his mouth with short, small movements, welcomed by Crowley’s clever forked tongue every time.

Aziraphale had squeezed his eyes shut for the most part since Crowley had leaned his head down, content simply to focus on the new sensation, but when he opened them briefly, he noticed that Crowley’s fiery eyes were turned up at him, watching his face intently. For some reason, that was the last push he needed to tumble over the crest of pleasure that had built as Crowley’s mouth worked on him. He bucked up one last time, managing only a strangled, wordless sound as warning. However, Crowley did not seem to need it. He swallowed everything Aziraphale gave him, which left Aziraphale feeling hot all over again, especially as his tongue slipped out to lick his lips clean.

“That was fast,” Crowley commented smugly.

“Was it?” Aziraphale asked, suddenly a little embarrassed. “I had no idea.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Crowley pulled himself up onto the sofa with him. The shift allowed Aziraphale to see that apparently the ordeal had not left Crowley entirely unaffected. When Crowley noticed his gaze, he reached shamelessly between his legs and adjusted the bulge, as if looking to draw Aziraphale’s full attention to it. Aziraphale swallowed.

“Well, er, can I help you with that?” he asked.

“Don’t let me stop you.”

Aziraphale made sure to tuck himself in first to keep up appearances a little before he turned his attention to Crowley. His trousers easily zipped down, leaving Aziraphale looking, to his surprise, at bare skin and short, reddish curls.

“Where did the rest of your outfit go? I’m very sure I put briefs on your vessel.”

“And I put them away. They’re probably in someone’s drawer somewhere. Don’t particularly care for them,” Crowley answered, grinning languidly.

Knowing that Crowley apparently sometimes forwent underclothes left Aziraphale’s head full of enticing images, but he was distracted now by the very real sight of his cock. Crowley had opted for something bigger and longer, though the gentle curve somehow seemed to mirror the long lines of his body. Aziraphale found that he very much liked the velvety feel of soft skin against his palms.

He began moving his hand up and down after a moment of exploration, much like Crowley had done with his mouth. Crowley watched him breathlessly before he pressed his mouth against Aziraphale’s neck. His hand went under his already dishevelled shirt and waistcoat to paw at his front. Though Aziraphale was quite aware that his pudgy body was not the height of what was considered attractive these days, it seemed that Crowley exceedingly enjoyed digging his fingers into his soft flesh. Aziraphale was sure there’d be a few bruises on him for how greedily Crowley grabbed at his chest and stomach and sides, but also realised that he did not mind at all.

“Faster,” Crowley all but commanded.

Aziraphale did as he was asked, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the head of Crowley’s cock. With his free hand, he found himself touching his balls and then added it to the base of Crowley’s manhood to cover all of it with his fingers. The demon tensed, teeth digging into Aziraphale’s neck as warm seed spilled all over Aziraphale’s hand. When he was finished, Crowley leaned slack into him.

“You were just as fast as me,” Aziraphale pointed out, after a moment.

Crowley had the good grace to look a little sullen when he turned his head. “Well, you made me wait a long time for this.”

“That’s true,” Aziraphale admitted in a placatory tone, smiling at him.

With a flick of his fingers, Crowley cleaned up the mess he’d made and restored his clothes to their former form before he lounged back against the sofa, holding out his hand to Aziraphale.

“Did you think it helped?” Aziraphale asked, after he had happily fit himself against Crowley’s shoulder.

“Helped?”

It seemed Crowley had forgotten about the start of the conversation for a moment. Of course, if he’d been coughing blossoms for all this time, they probably were not such a wondrous thing to him as they were to Aziraphale.

“With the flowers.” 

“Oh.” He shrugged, his bony shoulder moving against Aziraphale. “Can’t say yet. Sometimes, it doesn’t really happen for a day or two. But you know, I don’t think I actually care.” Crowley raised a brow. “I lived 700 years throwing up flowers thinking you were barely ready to be my friend, so this is already a hundred times better than what I had.” He curled a lock of Aziraphale’s pale, white hair around his finger. “I’ll take some angel’s trumpets in exchange for an angel.”

Aziraphale’s chest filled with warmth as he leaned over and kissed Crowley again, smiling brightly.


End file.
